Page 34 of Losing Wendy

“That wasn’t a joke, stupid,” says Freckles, slapping Smalls on the back of the head.

“I knew it wasn’t a joke.”

Simon is the only one who doesn’t look amused. He raises an eyebrow. “You remember how you got here?”

I frown, exchanging a glance with John. “Of course I do. We only just arrived.”

A frown flickers across Simon’s features, but he schools it into a smile quickly enough. “Well, that just made you three the most interesting thing to happen to Neverland in well, ever, I suppose.”

“Did you come to Neverland very young, then?” I ask, imagining Peter rounding up a band of street urchin toddlers, though the image is as ephemeral as the shadows themselves.

“Not exactly,” says Simon, his pointed ears flicking.

“We just don’t remember what happened to us before,” pipes up Smalls from the back.

“Well, except for Nettle,” Joel snickers.

Nettle doesn’t appear amused, but he doesn’t defend himself to the other boys either.

“You’ll have to tell us some stories from the world you hail from,” says Simon. “We get pretty bored around here. Would do us some good, especially the younger ones.”

My throat goes dry. “I don’t have any stories.”

It’s not true, not in the least, but I’m not ready to tell these hopeful, excited-looking boys about a world that’s just as dreary as the one they inhabit.

“That’s a shame,” says Simon, disappointment flickering in the corners of his smile. “Well, I suppose we should get you oriented to your new home, then. This is the Den. There’s an extra room at the end of that hallway right there that the three of you can share. That is, unless you’ll be staying with Peter.”

My cheeks flush scarlet. “No. No, I won’t be.”

Simon nudges me. “Just checking. Wasn’t sure if Peter had kidnapped himself a bride or something.”

My stomach twists with unease, which Simon must pick up on, because he winces apologetically, then swiftly changes the subject. “We’re the Lost Boys—sorry, I think I already said that. Probably don’t have to do much imagining to figure out how we came up with the name. It’s not all that original, despite what Benjamin will tell you.”

I examine the surrounding boys, some barely two years younger than me. Though each one of them has a set of pointed-tipped ears, so even the youngest, Smalls, could very well be ten years my senior.

Fae in my world were cursed with mortality during the War, but from what I’ve read in books, fae from other realms live several centuries, to the point that some scholars believe them to be immortal, as one has never been known to die of old age. Granted, it’s not all that surprising none of them make it that long, when they tend to be bloodthirsty deceivers who rack up enemies faster than a drunk does a tab at the local tavern.

Once Simon is done with the introductions, the boys bombard me with questions, having given up entirely on John and Michael.

“What’s your world like?”

“Did you bring any food in your pockets?”

But then Victor, the sullen one in the corner, speaks up. “I take it you’re orphans too.”

Not a question.

My blood runs cold, the memory of my parents’ deaths still fresh, the scent of their spilled blood still caking my throat.

Orphans.

I feel as if I might throw up.

“I think we’d like to be shown to our rooms now,” I say.

Simon flicks a quieting glare at the other boys, who slowly cease their rambling.

Then he leads us to a dingy room where I wonder if we’ll live out the rest of our days.

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